


The secrets we hide on our skins.

by Michaelssw0rd



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Era, M/M, Romance, vague description of witch burning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:49:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/pseuds/Michaelssw0rd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin had a penchant for wearing ugly neckerchiefs, and Arthur had a tendency to become obsessed with everything related to his manservant.<br/>It didn't help that they both had secrets they wanted to keep hidden more than anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The secrets we hide on our skins.

Arthur decided that this particular patrol duty was a bad idea. Not only was it a totally spur of the moment decision – and no he had not done it just to torture his manservant- it was also that the sun had decided to be specially wrathful for some reason. It was probably Merlin’s curse, Arthur thought. Merlin had always hated these duties -loudly- and could never understand why Arthur always dragged him along for them.

“I would be no use to you in case someone attacked anyway. Why not take one of the knights along?” he had complained an hour ago, just like always.

“Well the thing is _Mer_ lin, that none of them would make an adequate bait. When someone sees you along with me they underestimate us and attack, forgetting in the moment that I am the best fighter in the kingdom.”

“So it’s my qualities as a bait that makes me a desirable patrol companion, is that it?” Merlin said with a scowl on his face, which just made him look adorable rather than threatening.

“Yep. Definitely that.” Arthur smirked, looking away.

In answer Merlin mumbled something, and despite knowing it was probably an insult Arthur couldn’t help pushing.

“Care to repeat that Merlin? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said,” Merlin bit out every word, unrepentant, “that you are the worst person alive and I hope you suffer for this.”

“Is that a threat?” mocked Arthur.

“No, just a wish. A heart felt one. Who knows, someone might be listening.” Merlin grinned at him wickedly and stalked off.

And what do you know, somebody really was listening. There was no other explanation for why the sun seemed to be shining at a thousand times its usual strength and searing the very skin off of Arthur’s back. He felt like he would melt from the sheer heat in the air, or burn to a crisp. They had climbed down from the horses and were walking beside them, holding the reins in their hands. Soon enough Arthur had been forced to take off his chain mail, because it had become hot like branding iron, and he didn’t think skin and iron would fuse well. His shirt followed soon after, and even though the sweat evaporating off of his back provided some sweet relief, he dreaded the burns that would eventually develop. If someone attacked them right now, they would never have found a more vulnerable Arthur but he doubted anyone would be stupid enough to plan an attack in this weather. They would die of dehydration before Arthur’s sword even reached them.

He glanced at Merlin, who had prayed for this fate in the first place, to see how he was doing. He expected to see a similarly shirtless Merlin, but was surprised by the sight. Merlin’s clothes were soaked through, clinging to his skin. Repeatedly, he kept trying to separate them from his skin and air them a bit, and uselessly wiping the sweat dripping down his hair with his sleeves. He looked a little bit like he had taken a plunge in a lake, with his clothes on and everything. Despite his obvious discomfort, he didn’t remove a single item of clothing.

“What?” Merlin asked irritably when he noticed Arthur staring.

“While I perfectly understand that you’re basically a girl, and modest enough to shame most of them, there’s no reason for that just now. You can take your shirt off. I won’t judge,” Arthur teased.

“I am fine.” Merlin was already so red that he wasn’t sure if that was a blush creeping up his ears or they were just getting sun burned.

“No you’re not. You’re melting. We both are. At least I am not wearing ten layers of clothing to make matters worse.”

“Well excuse me Sire.” Merlin sounded annoyed now, and wasn’t that just a treat, “I am sorry not everyone is as fond of showing off their bodies to the world as you are.”

“That’s because not everyone have anything to show off,” Arthur taunted, earning himself another annoyed look.

“I am dealing. I would rather be sweaty than have sun burns everywhere anyway.”

Arthur supposed he had a point but still, “At the very least take the bloody neckerchief off. I feel like I am getting a heat stroke just looking at you.”

Merlin suddenly stopped in his tracks, and it took a few steps for Arthur to notice. He glanced back and was that… fear… in Merlin’s eyes? His gaze quickly darted around to see if enemy was nearby, but the area was deserted. What could possibly have scared Merlin?

Arthur watched quietly as Merlin composed himself quickly, and looked at Arthur stretching his lips in a fake facsimile of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I told you. I am fine Arthur. Let’s get this patrol from hell over with so I can take a bath,” Merlin huffed, in an obviously fake nonchalance. His hand that wasn’t holding the reins of the horse kept twitching until he finally gave in to the urge and settled it on his neckerchief… protectively.

Oh. _Oh!_

Which was… what? Arthur’s brain couldn’t process it. It definitely looked like Merlin had been scared of somehow losing the horrible addition to his garments he was inclined to wear at all times. Until now, Arthur had always dismissed it as one of his quirks but this seemed more than that.

Knowing when to accept defeat though, he decided to pursue the subject on a later date, when they both weren’t on edge of losing their temper because of the fiery hell raining down on them.

“Suit yourself,” he said, and stalked off. “Don’t blame me when your brain melts and flows out of your ear. Oh wait a minute… you don’t have a brain. My bad.”

In response Merlin muttered something that distinctively sounded like “ _Arsehole_ ,” but Arthur being the benevolent master that he was decided to that one go. 

* * *

 

_Whenever Arthur thought of sorcerers, he was reminded of his earliest encounter with one of them. Or should he say his earliest encounter with what happens to one._

_It was his nanny. He doesn’t remember her name anymore, but she was giving him a bath, sleeves rolled up, humming a soft tune. He had noticed a beautiful writing on the inner side of her elbow and asked what it was._

_She had looked terrified. It was his first memory of what terror looked like too._

_He had later asked his father on the dinner table about it, because she had not answered despite him asking multiple times. The next day he saw the woman with soft smile crying as she was led to the pyre, her gentle hands that had combed his hair many times…shackled, and the beautiful voice that sang him lullabies at night… screaming, over and over, for someone called Roran._

_He distantly remembered that she used to smell of flowers and scented soap. He vividly remembered what her flesh burning smelled like._

_“She was a sorcerer Arthur,” the King had told him, “sorcerers are evil,” he had insisted as he saw a tear trickle down his son’s face. “She would’ve killed you.”_

_But she hadn’t. She had comforted him, played with him, and loved him. She had not killed him._

_They had killed her._

_He was seven._  

* * *

 

Arthur would be the first one to accept that he had an irrational hatred towards Merlin’s fashion sense. He wore clothes which never fitted properly, always a size or two too big, in horrible drab colours and even worse condition. Technically he realized it was because Merlin couldn’t afford better clothes but it didn’t stop him from wishing Merlin would, for a change, wear clothes that brought out his slender but not so flimsy figure, showed off his muscles built from carrying things and doing all the excessive grunt work Arthur often shoved on him. Arthur wanted him to wear sapphire blue robes, to see how they would match with his eyes, or deep red, just to see him in Pendragon colours. _His_ colours.

It was just a foolish desire though, and if there was one thing Arthur had perfected, it was to suffocate and kill any desire before it could even take root. He had not yet been successful in fully quenching this one, but he was more than well equipped to handle it, and not let it interfere with his duties. He was a Prince. A marked man on top of that. A liaison with a servant, no matter how adorable or comely, was out of question.

He understood all that. That wasn’t the point. The point was, Arthur had always despised Merlin’s fashion sense. He abhorred his neckerchiefs worse than everything else though, because they were an atrocity. Merlin wore them in ridiculously ugly shades too: never a pretty bright red, or a shiny green silk. Just dreary colours that made his already shabby clothing… hideous.

If he thought he hated them before though, it was nothing compared to what he started feeling towards them after that momentous patrol that day. It took more than a year of having Merlin as a servant to realize, quite suddenly, that he had never seen Merlin without them. Never. Not even once.

Whenever Merlin brought him breakfast, he was wearing it. Whenever they went out hunting, he never went without it. Even on the random times he had burst into Gaius’s chambers he never found Merlin sans his ugly scarves. It didn’t matter if it was blistering hot outside or freezing cold, Merlin and his ugly accessory of clothing never parted.

This realization was all it took for Arthur to become obsessed. All of a sudden, he wanted nothing more than to see Merlin without anything covering his neck. It had nothing to do with his attraction towards his manservant. It was just natural curiosity… or was it? 

* * *

 

_He remembered Roran though; everybody remembered Roran. He had attacked the city two days after they burned the girl in the town’s square for everyone to watch and learn a lesson from. He had not distinguished between anyone, throwing spells, killing and incapacitating anyone that tried to stop him as he ran towards the Palace gate. Everyone talked about how he had destroyed the gate with one single ball of blue light. Months, years later, people still talked about how he looked mad, how his magic had made him crazy._

_He was one of the only sorcerers to have ever placed a knife at Uther’s throat, as he had come outside to see what the commotion was. He didn’t care that he was surrounded by soldiers with swords and bows. Arthur remembered him because he had been crying. Murdering people, hurting them, enraged and fanatical… dangerous. The tears on his face had looked strange._

_“She had no fault. “He had shouted with the King at his knife point and every eye focused on him. “You killed her, when you should’ve killed me. I am the sorcerer. She was just bearing my mark.” He had looked unhinged as he taken off his shirt to reveal a parrot painted- no it wasn’t a paint, it was just there- on the middle of his chest. Kea… that had been the dead girl’s name._

_They had shot him with nine arrows at his back. Arthur had been powerless to do anything but watch as they dragged him to the middle of the town square, just where there had been a pyre two days ago, making a track of blood, and left him to die. Nobody had dared to approach him._

_“She had kept him hidden. She was just as much at fault as him. She deserved what happened to her.” His father had told him sitting across from him as he cut into his piece of meat at dinner. Arthur found he had no appetite._

_“Magic is evil Arthur, and it corrupts everyone who come in contact with it.”_

_There were eleven people dead because of Roran, two dozen injured. Arthur was seven and he could count. He had nodded, yet somehow he could not convince himself of his father’s words._

* * *

They were on the way to a town towards the base of the White Mountains. There were rumors of a magical beast wandering around the place, causing no apparent harm, but as magic was evil by its very nature so Uther had urged the Arthur to take his most trusted knights and get there without delay. Because of the non-threatening nature of the problem though, the knights had made the way there into a holiday trip of sort, which was why they were all splashing about in the lake like kids rather than riding with all haste.

Merlin and Arthur were both lounging at the bank, Merlin half sitting with his back supported by a tree and Arthur lying down and staring at the sky. Gwaine, Leon and Percival were jumping around the lake, playfully throwing the water at each other’s faces, shirtless wet and happy.

“My Lord,” Gwaine intoned in a way that meant anything but respect, “If you would quit being a princess and join us it would be great.”

“I am comfortable where I am Gwaine,” Arthur replied calmly, enjoying the gentle warmth radiating off the ground underneath him and soaking into his body.

“Argh. Fine. Merlin, what about you? Do you have qualms about wetting your beautiful delicate skin with the dirty lake water too?”

“Not what I said Gwaine,” Arthur replied, exactly at the same time as Merlin said, “Sod off, I don’t fancy riding while being sopping wet.”

That caught Arthur’s interest. He abruptly sat up.

“No. I think Gwaine has a point. The water does look wonderfully welcoming, wouldn’t you say Merlin?”

Merlin just gave him a look that said, _do as you please, leave me out of it_. Arthur really couldn’t do that now, could he?

“Let’s go jump in.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm and tried to get him to stand up, while slowly getting to his feet himself.

“I am not going to jump in. Forget it.”

“Alright, I am going to. Take care of my clothes,” Arthur said while he took off his shirt and undershirt, along with his shoes and socks, leaving his breeches on.

“Isn’t it going to be uncomfortable riding with wet trousers?” Merlin asked, and Arthur hoped it wasn’t just him seeing what he wanted to, but Merlin seemed flushed, trying to look everywhere but at Arthur’s naked torso.

“Why Merlin. You really interested in what’s under my pants?”

“Prat! Not what I meant. And anyway, I put your clothes out. I know you’re hardly gonna be naked if you take your breaches off.”

“Tell you what… It’s hardly fair that I am stripping and you aren’t. So, your scarf for my pants. Fair deal?”

“Piss off,” Was all Merlin said, looking away. His hand going towards his neckerchief protectively again. _Huh._

“Please tell me you’re done flirting and are about to join us My Liege!” Gwaine called out, breaking Arthur out of his trance of staring at Merlin playing with the brown cloth around his neck.

He joined the knights and even though the water was at precisely perfect temperature, and his body felt blessedly light and cool after the day of riding, he still felt off. It wasn’t a surprise. He hardly ever managed to enjoy anything without Merlin along his side. This was a fact he had accepted a long time ago.

Which was why he glanced significantly at Gwaine after a few minutes. Gwaine, the master of all things mischief, didn’t need a further explanation of the plan. He winked and looked in Merlin’s direction, who was quietly humming now, eyes closed.

“Merlin. Be a love and pass me my shirt will you?”

Merlin opened his eyes and squinted in his direction suspiciously.

“Why?” he asked, getting up and moving towards where the knights had haphazardly thrown their clothes.

“Because I want to get out of water and join your sweet company of sitting by the tree of course.”

“You’re the worst,” Merlin commented, sifting through the clothes and picking up one that probably belonged to Gwaine.

“Why Merlin. I am hurt. I thought I was the worst,” Arthur commented, laughing.

“You’re both the worst. You should compete for the no one title. It’s not going to be an easy competition I assure….aaaaarrghhh…”

Merlin was in mid rant, extending his hand towards Gwaine with his shirt when the knight suddenly grabbed his arm, and at the same moment Arthur jumped up and grabbed one of his legs and together they pulled Merlin into the water with them.

Merlin fell face first, letting out an almost comical squeak, and then emerged from water spluttering and indignant, while Gwaine and Arthur doubled over laughing. Leon and Percival were watching them with quiet amusement too.

“I… you… both of you…” Merlin was breathing harshly and coughing lightly, no doubt because of the water that went into his nose. He also seemed speechless at what was predictable Gwaine behavior. Even after so long, the idiot had not learned to expect it.

“You’re welcome. Now you can enjoy the nice water too which you were denying yourself,” Arthur explained.

“I hate you,” Merlin whispered fiercely which made them both laugh more.

“No you don’t,” Gwaine cajoled.

“No I don’t,” Merlin agreed, grumbling.

“Well, now that you’re here in the water already, lose a couple of layers?” Leon, the sensible reliable Leon, said the thing that Arthur had been itching to say.

“Yes!” Gwaine exclaimed, moving his hands towards Merlin in playfully seductive way. “Let’s take off these awful clothes shall we?” His fingers touched Merlin’s neckerchief and Merlin jumped back as if burnt. Gwaine suddenly looked at him in confusion as Merlin quickly composed himself, but not before Arthur saw a look of pure terror on his face.

_What was this even about?_

“It’s already wet isn’t it? I would rather my clothes stay exactly where they are now that they are ruined already.”

“As you wish.” Gwaine raised his hand in fake surrender, and then as soon as Merlin relaxed, he quickly jumped forward and shoved Merlin’s head back under water, leaving him spluttering and fighting.

Arthur felt his the knot in his chest unwind, the sound of Merlin’s laughter making the beautiful day even more perfect. Everything was exactly in the place where it belonged.

Except that dumb piece of cloth around Merlin’s neck. But that was a small itch at the back of his mind, completely overwhelmed by the gladness in his heart.

* * *

 

_The night after dinner with Uther, while he knew Roran was probably still outside in the freezing cold town’s square, taking his last breaths… or maybe he was already dead, Arthur had locked the door to his room and started trembling. Then he had closed all windows and drawn curtains on them, as he proceeded to strip off every layer of clothing on his body._

_There had been a mirror in the corner of his room; he had walked forward and stood in front of it for a really long time, looking at every inch of his body, searching. Once he had been sure there was nothing on it, he had fallen on the ground and sobbed in relief._

_He didn’t have a mark. He won’t be burned to death, or shot to death. There was no need to be scared._

_In all honesty, he wasn’t sure if he had been more scared of the evil the brand of magic would bring, or what would happen if anyone found out, but Arthur would never forget the feeling of sheer relief he felt when he found he didn’t have to worry about it._

_At that time, he didn’t know that soul mark manifested itself at puberty._

* * *

 

Sometimes when Arthur lay in bed at night, he couldn’t help but think of those perfectly sapphire blue eyes. As he trailed his hand down his chest, scratching at his belly, he tried and failed not to think of thin agile fingers, forever clumsy but always dependable, wrapping a bandage around his wound, smoothing the chainmail on his chest… beautiful. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, the softness of Merlin’s hair when he smacked his head, the strength of his shoulder whenever he carried half the weight of a wounded or drunken Arthur back to his chambers, his blinding smile, were memories and sensations that consumed him when he took his length into his hand.

His cheekbones, sharp, angular, and almost giving him an angelic look, mesmerized Arthur behind his closed lids as he pumped his fist, up and down, moaning out a sound and hoping against all hope that it wasn’t the name of his manservant.

What would Merlin’s neck look like? He wondered. He fantasized taking off his neckerchief, and Merlin looking away, shy, but letting him. Arthur whimpered as he thought of kissing Merlin at the junction of his neck and shoulder, an area he was sure would be extremely sensitive considering it almost never got to experience anything except a rough cloth pressed and rubbing against it.

And his collar bones… Arthur brought his other hand up to his mouth, and bit his fist to drown out the whine rising up his throat, his hand moving faster and faster as he lost himself to the fantasy. Merlin would have the most perfect collarbones, just like the rest of him, sharp, like his cheekbones, fair and freckled, a vulnerable spot that he let no one see but him, let no one touch except his Prince, let no one kiss… bite on.

Arthur spilled with a muffled cry over his fist. He turned his face into the pillow and tried to calm his racing heart and get his breathing under control. Long ago, he had made a pact to never to dwell on the things he thought of when he was at his most vulnerable. Those didn’t count. Those didn’t change anything. There were some things that weren’t meant to be. He had known ever since he was a teenager that he would have no choice in who he will have to take up as partner and he had accepted that fate. It was his duty as a Prince- his destiny- and Merlin didn’t add into it. He was fine. He was okay. He was dealing with it.

Arthur curled into his side, putting blankets over him and not bothering to clean himself, suddenly feeling too exhausted. He won’t think about it. But damn it all to hell, he couldn’t stop the hollow pain in his chest from growing every time.

 _It’s alright_. Arthur told himself, repeated his mantra. _I can deal with this. I am okay. It’s alright._

Inevitably, it lulled him to sleep, where he saw himself in a hazy dream with Merlin walking by his side, wearing Pendragon red, and no scarves, his hand entwined with Arthur’s. The dream Arthur did not try to not think about it. Dreams were safe. He had no control over them.

* * *

 

_“Gaius?” Ten years old Arthur had situated himself on the stool, his feet dangling in air as the physician tinkered away with his equipment. When he had received a distracted acknowledgement signifying the man had heard him he continued, “Is magic evil?”_

_“Why do you think that?” Gaius had stopped to look at him, eyebrow raised._

_“Because it kills people,” Arthur had replied, looking at the floor, knowing he sounded immature and childish and hating it._

_“Hmm… Do you think a sword is evil?” Typical Gaius, replying to a question with a question._

_“No it’s not,” Arthur had replied, not understanding what the point was. ”A sword is just a thing. How can a thing be evil?”_

_“But it kills people,” Gaius had said, eyeing him significantly, and then shrugging and getting back to work._

_It had taken Arthur years to understand the lesson behind those words._

* * *

 The pain was blinding. It started up in his shoulder, running down arm, and spreading to his fingers. He couldn’t move a single muscle in his entire limb. What was worse was that he could feel the blood, slowly but surely running down his chest as he sat heavily supported by the tree trunk and Merlin. There was a chill moving towards his heart, threatening to freeze it right where it was beating.

 _Poisoned knife_ , he thought exactly at the same time as Merlin tore away his shirt to expose the wound, and bit out a curse.

“Stay with me Arthur, it’s a poisoned knife. We need to get you to Gaius.”

Merlin wiped the blood pooling down on his chest with the torn piece of shirt, and cursed again.

“Silk. Bloody silk. That’s a useless cloth.”

Arthur wanted to argue that it was hardly his fault that there had been a banquet that night, and that his attacker did not have enough courtesy to not attack him right when he was coming back from dropping off a beautiful lady, daughter of some noble currently visiting the kingdom, back to her little cottage outside of the palace. She had preferred to stay outside the Palace along with her maid, and after positioning two guards around her place, her father had agreed as long as the Prince dropped her off if it was late at night. Arthur suspected he probably wanted to give them alone time so that Arthur could be charmed by her- and she was charming enough mind you- but Arthur’s heart belonged to another since a long time, and his soul promised to someone without his say an even longer time ago.

So it was a pretty fruitless exercise, except that it had given a petty man with a grudge with Uther an opportunity to attack his son when he was at his most vulnerable. Arthur had hit him on his head and incapacitated him but not before he had managed to plunge a blade into his shoulder. Arthur had no idea how Merlin realized he was in trouble, probably noticed he had been gone too long and came to annoy him-the idiot- but he could hardly complain now.

“Sorry.” Was all Arthur could manage while Merlin grumbled about silk being an unserviceable fabric to soak blood or make a bandage.

His eyes were drooping and he knew the poison was spreading fast, he tried to form words to tell Merlin that but the most he could manage was open and close his mouth.

“Bloody hell. Arthur. Hang in there okay. The palace isn’t far.”

“Too… much… blood.” It took effort to form words, but he needed Merlin to realize he was losing blood too fast, that the knife had hit a main artery probably.

“Okay. You’re okay,” Merlin whispered frantically as he looked around to find something to stop the blood. Arthur couldn’t help the choked laugh that bubbled up in his throat, listening to Merlin repeat the mantra Arthur intoned to himself every night.

“Damn it all, you will be the death of me Arthur,” Merlin bit out angrily, and Arthur’s heart stopped as he noticed Merlin’s hand moving towards his own neck, pulling at the cloth there. He couldn’t even blame it on the poison.

Merlin hesitated for a moment, and then hastily pulled it away from his neck, and Arthur hated the man who had knifed him at this moment more than anyone else in the world, because it was dark, his vision was swimming and he could hardly make out anything more than Merlin’s vague silhouette. Merlin wasn’t wearing his scarf and yet Arthur could not see his neck, his collar bone. If he lived, he would make sure he killed the man who had attacked him.

His eyes drooped, and he barely noticed Merlin tying his neckerchief around his wound, and then supporting him up to a standing position and carrying more than supporting him towards the palace walls. Even though he was pretty out of it he noticed a commotion when they neared the gate and suddenly many pair of hands were replacing Merlin’s and he resisted their pull, because he was exactly where he wanted to be. But then Merlin gently pried his arm away from around his shoulder, and he resigned himself to be carried by unknown faceless men.

“Take him to Gaius. Tell him it was a poisonous knife. This one.” He heard Merlin say, and he wanted to ask why Merlin was abandoning him, trying to quell the hurt rising up in his heart, overpowering even the cold chill of the poison.

“I will be right there Arthur,” Merlin whispered close to his ear, and he felt at ease all of a sudden, letting the darkness consume him now that he knew Merlin would be there when he woke up.

The next time he opened his eyes, true to his word, Merlin was sitting next to his bed. His attention wasn’t on him though. He was arguing with Gaius over something. Arthur closed his eyes again and pretended to be asleep.

“How could you be so careless Merlin? I mean I get that it was a difficult situation but you could’ve been caught.” The old physician’s tone was full of reproach.

“He was hardly in a state to notice Gaius,” Merlin sounded exasperated.

“Maybe. You can’t be sure of that. But what if someone else had? ”

“What was I supposed to do huh? Let him bleed out?” Merlin had raised his voice. The old man apparently had no answer to that.

“I am only asking you to be careful Merlin. Your life is very dear to me,” Gaius’s voice softened, took on a paternal tone.

“I know. I am sorry. Anyway, it was dark and there were more pressing matters. So nobody noticed. I covered it up as soon as Arthur was in safe hands so you don’t need to worry.”

“I am glad my child,” Gaius said in a voice that told Arthur he had a smile on his face.

Thinking it was time to let them know he was awake, he shifted on his bed, not even needing to fake the groan that left his mouth when he jostled his shoulder. Gaius and Merlin were both bending over him next second, asking him questions about how he felt, quietly reprimanding him about not being careful enough with his life. He let their concern over his health gladden his heart, their care mending his wound better than any drug ever could.

He looked at Merlin and smiled dopily. He could always blame the drugs for it. But Merlin had saved his life, he had risked something important- he did not know what, but he was sure it was very crucial- to do that. And he had kept his promise and was here when he woke up. Arthur had every right to feel the love he was feeling at the moment.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, finally.

Merlin looked startled. Arthur had hardly ever shown gratitude before, always too guarded.

“Any time Arthur. Any time,” Merlin replied back, smiling shakily, his fingers fiddling with the fabric around his throat. Arthur was dismayed to find it back there. He remembered the feeling he got when Merlin had taken it off, and he wished he would do it again. Merlin was hiding something and Arthur wanted to know what it was, needed to know. But he won’t force Merlin. After all, Merlin wasn’t the only one with secrets, wasn’t the only one hiding things.

So Arthur would deal with it too. He could do that.

* * *

_It_   _wasn’t the first daughter of visiting noble that had thrown herself at him. He had been sixteen, tall and handsome, with golden hair. He had realized it wasn’t his looks they were aiming for, it was his status as the prince, but he had also known his looks didn’t hurt._

_They had been kissing frantically, his blood thrumming in his veins, his body moving eagerly. He had been young, hormones raging havoc in his system, skin hungering for the touch of another. That had been pure bliss._

_Then her hand had strayed to the fastening of his breaches,_ I will make you feel so good, _she had whispered into his ears seductively, but he had frozen._

_Quite suddenly he had remembered why he didn’t do this; why he hadn’t done this every time someone had suggested it, every time someone had come to him, willing and eager to satisfy the need gnawing at his insides._

_Arthur had something to hide._

_Feeling frustrated and unsatisfied, but not having a choice, he had excused himself, apologizing profusely, and went to his room, relieving himself with his hand in the bath, and cursing his fate with a vehemence that didn’t even surprise him anymore._

_It wasn’t fair._

* * *

 They were both tipsy. More than a little. Not inebriated enough to be labelled drunk, but not in control of their minds and bodies enough to be called sober either. Drinking with tavern often turned into a competition when his knights were around and he could not let them win. It went against his princely pride. Even when he knew that loosening his inhibitions around his manservant was for from wise.

Merlin though, Merlin knew he didn’t handle his drinks well, and yet, Arthur thought fondly, he had bravely tried to keep up. It all resulted in both of them fuzzy in the head and clumsy with their steps, stumbling up the stairs to Arthur’s chamber, half supporting each other, half draping over the other’s shoulder. They managed to stumble into the room without any incident, the chill in the air helping them clear their heads a bit.

Once inside it felt like too much effort to clean up and get into bed, and falling face down on top of bed covers was bad manners while Merlin was around, so Arthur just trudged his feet until he sat down on the ground near the bed, his back supported by the frame. To his surprise and absolute pleasure, Merlin followed him, sitting next to him, his shoulders almost touching.

They didn’t speak for a long time, comfortable in the silence. They didn’t need constant chatter- despite Merlin’s propensity for doing just that- to feel normal around each other. The quiet never felt weighted between them, despite the secrets they kept. Arthur doubted anything could ever make him feel uncomfortable in Merlin’s presence.

“Well that was stupid.” Merlin broke the quiet at last, with a quiet snicker.

“Yes Merlin. Thanks for stating the obvious. Couldn’t you have that revelation when we could’ve done something to stop it?”

“Sorry,” Merlin said, not sounding sorry at all. “I just like you when you’re drunk.”

Arthur knew he should not think too much about this, but he was just the wrong side of drunk to enjoy it, even while knowing that Merlin wouldn’t have said that if he had been in complete control of his thoughts. “You won’t like me when we wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

“I know. You’re gonna throw things at me again,” Merlin grumbled. “You always do that after you are nice to me. It’s like… it’s like… “Merlin seemed frustrated at his loss for words, “It’s like you are making up for showing me a soft side.”

“I am not soft Merlin. I am a strong and powerful warrior.” Arthur puffed out his chest, affronted by being called soft.

“Of course you are.” Merlin lightly shoved at his shoulder, “But when you are drunk, you smile at me. I like that. You also do it when you are heavily medicated after nearly dying but I don’t like that. You nearly dying is not okay.” Merlin started out chirpy but then his voice became small.

He suddenly looked up and grabbed Arthur’s hand in his. “Don’t die okay. If you die I won’t have a purpose in life anymore. Promise me you won’t die.”

“Whatever do you mean Merlin?” Arthur tried to make sense of the urgency in Merlin’s voice, and failed. “Everyone dies sometime.”

“Not you. Never you. Promise me.” Merlin seemed almost frantic now, and Arthur did only thing he could do. He put his other hand around the one which Merlin was using to grab his, and squeezed, smiling at Merlin.

“I won’t die. I promise,” Arthur assured, in the firmest tones he could manage.

“Good.” Merlin relaxed. He glanced up and said, “That, that’s the smile I am talking about. You are going to take revenge for me making you show it tomorrow morning, but worth it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Arthur looked away, at the wall in front of him, knowing full well his lips were stretching into a wider grin.

“Nothing at all. I am talking about nothing at all.” Merlin let go of his hand after another squeeze and slipped his own out of them, and mimicked Arthur by looking at the wall too.

The room descended into silence again. But it was the welcoming sort of one. It felt like Arthur could say anything right now, and it would not be held against him come morning. So he took a risk,

“Why do you wear the neckerchiefs Merlin?” Arthur asked, not looking his way.

Merlin did not reply for a long time, but Arthur didn’t prompt him again. If Merlin wanted to pretend Arthur hadn’t asked, he would let him.

“Why are you asking?” When he replied, his voice was filled with a lot of caution mixed with a hint of fear. Arthur did not like it.

“You don’t have to answer it. I am just curious.”

“I don’t have any reason.” Merlin lied- he was a terrible liar, he should never attempt it. Arthur made up half a mind to teach him to lie properly, but he liked Merlin’s innocence far too much to corrupt it. “I just like them.”

“I told you that you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. You didn’t have to insult me by lying.” Finally Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin. His manservant had his head bowed and was biting his lips. Unsurprisingly, his hand was around his throat, as if protecting it from Arthur. Like Arthur could ever dare to hurt Merlin. Even the thought made him sick to the stomach.

“I am sorry,” Merlin said to his lap. Was he apologizing for lying? Or was it an apology for not answering the question? Arthur couldn’t be sure.

“It’s just that… I would really like to know. I know there is a reason behind it. I know you’re hiding something. I just wish you would trust me enough to confide in me.”

Arthur moved to turn his head again, but Merlin’s eyes shot up and caught his, the hand at his throat moved and went to Arthur’s cheek, keeping his gaze right where Merlin wanted: locked with Merlin’s.

They were filled with pain, and guilt, and so much love that Arthur wanted to move away, but Merlin’s eyes and his hand had trapped him as good as a cage would’ve.

“I do Arthur. I trust you. But I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“Merlin…” Arthur swallowed, his voice rough.

“You would never forgive me. You will hate me.” Merlin’s voice wavered, and his gaze lowered.

“You let me decide that.” Forgive Merlin? He would forgive Merlin anything. There wasn’t a crime in the world that would make him hate Merlin. He knew that as surely as he knew he was breathing.

He slowly, letting Merlin stop him if he wanted to, raised his hand, and placed it on Merlin’s racing heart. Then he slowly inched it up, watching his manservant tense up with every second, every millimeter, until he reached the cloth that had offended him for so long. He lightly pulled at it, exhilarated when Merlin allowed, slowly drawing it down. It had barely moved a couple of inches when Merlin’s hand shot up and grabbed his.

He looked at Arthur again, terrified, more terrified than he had looked every time he had faced mortal peril. His eyes were so vulnerable, so pleading, that Arthur couldn’t do anything but listen to the entreaty.

“Don’t. Please don’t. I don’t want you to. Please let it go.” Merlin sounded so hurt, like something was ripping his heart into shreds and he was going to let it, if Arthur desired so. And Arthur did desire it. More than anything else he had ever wanted in his life. But this was a question of doing what Arthur wanted versus compared to what Merlin needed him to do. And Arthur was a master of self-denial.

He let go of the cloth, feeling the tension drain out of Merlin’s body with that movement.

“Okay. Okay I won’t,” Arthur placated, taking his hand away from Merlin’s chest, and draping it across his shoulder, pulling him closer so he could put his head on Arthur’s shoulder, sagging against him.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered quietly, as if it was Arthur that had done Merlin a favor, rather than Merlin being the one willing to let Arthur hurt him just to quench his curiosity. He tightened his hold around Merlin, unable to form words.

* * *

  _At eighteen, Arthur had stood in front of a mirror, naked, windows draped and the doors locked. It was a ritual by now. He had been making himself suffer through every morning._

_He had looked at his body, at the muscles he had worked for, at the light freckles dotting his skin. It wasn’t a body of a person who spent his days in luxury. It was the frame of a knight, overstrained and roughly treated. He was proud of it._

_When he couldn’t avoid it any longer he had let his eyes stray down, to his left hip bone. As always he felt the gut wrenching sensation when he looked at it. He had tried to see the beauty in it and failed every time. Maybe on a wall somewhere, maybe painted on a piece of cloth, it would look lovely._

_It tainted his skin._

* * *

 In the morning he woke up stiff, still sitting against his bed frame, every joint in his body aching, and nothing more than his head, which was pounding away in a way that made him want to vomit. Only after realizing that he had fallen asleep sitting did he notice the body slumped over his. Merlin’s head was on his shoulder, mouth open and drooling. His hair were a mess, his clothes even more so. Yet he looked so delectably rumpled that Arthur forgot his pains for just a moment. He wanted to relive this feeling every morning of his life: waking up with Merlin beside him. Rationally he knew it was a dream that was impossible to ever materialize, but he could savor this moment when he was given the unexpected blessing, and hope that it was enough.

Merlin’s scarf was still around his neck, but it was loose enough that Arthur would barely need to nudge it and it would fall away. He could always say that it happened during the night, but Arthur couldn’t dismiss the way Merlin had requested, nay begged, for Arthur to let it go.

So Arthur would. He would let it go. He could do that.

In a minute Arthur would stop pretending to be asleep. He would wake up and be mean to Merlin to make up for the smiles of the night before, and then he will go about his day as usual. He would never again try to force Merlin to tell him what he was hiding. Merlin had every right to his secrets.

His loyal, self-sacrificing, utterly and completely faithful companion- because in this moment Arthur refused to call him a servant- had asked for one thing. He had asked Arthur to let it go. And that’s exactly what Arthur was going to do.

* * *

  _Magic was evil. Even if Arthur could not bring himself to believe in the fact, he had seen enough evidence of it to not be able to completely deny it._

_Could anyone love anything evil?_

_Whenever Arthur thought about it, he remembered how Kea had screamed and called out for Roran, how Roran in turn had cried, enraged and unhinged by her death. At seven he had been too young to realize what he did now: that it wasn’t evil that had prompted the killing and destruction… it had been love._

_So could someone really love anyone evil?_

_Could Arthur?_

* * *

 Of course just when Arthur decided to stop wondering about Merlin’s secret, fate decided to take it out of his hands.

They were out hunting, deep in the forest, a whole day’s ride away from the palace, when it happened. Arthur was busy setting up tent while Merlin was off collecting wood to build fire, so they can camp at night and hunt in the morning. He didn’t exactly know what tipped him off, but suddenly Merlin stopped whistling tunelessly, which he had been doing for the past half hour, and Arthur was suddenly on his feet, certain that there was danger about.

Abruptly he started running when he heard the scream, and burst into a clearing not far from where he was a moment later, only to find Merlin on the ground lying on his side and a tiger having one of his claws embedded into his right shoulder, preparing to eat its prey.

Without breaking his stride, he ran forward and before the tiger could even take his eyes away from his prize, and notice the real predator, Arthur lunged forward and shoved his blade into the back of the beast. The beast howled in pain, taking his claw out of Merlin’s shoulder roughly, making him scream out, and tried to turn towards Arthur, but he quickly drew his blade out and swung it, detaching the animal’s head from his body. He ducked away as quickly as he could but not before a spray of bloody hit him in the face. Grimly, he swiped at it, knowing his hair are going to be disgusting for a while, but not caring at the moment. There were more important matters to deal with.

Merlin lay curled on his side on the ground. There was an obvious wound on his right shoulder, but it was not bleeding excessively, thank heavens. There was also a wound on his abdomen, and it arrested Arthur mid stride, because if it was a gut injury, then help was too far away to be of any use.

He rushed forward, and stroked his hand on Merlin’s arm, whispering “You idiot. Can’t even take care of yourself for five minutes without me, can you?”

When Merlin just whimpered in pain to the comment, he hushed him quietly, gently prying Merlin’s hand away from the wound on his front, wanting to know the amount of damage. “It’s alright Merlin. It’s just a graze. Don’t be a baby. Here, let me look.”

Slowly he managed to pry his hand away from the injury and sighed in relief to realize that even though there were three deep gashes, they were only superficial, involving some muscle but definitely not reaching the gut.

“Like I said. Just a graze.” Arthur almost laughed because of how relieved he was.

“Will you,” Merlin swallowed, voice cracking cause of pain, “just… shut up about the graze? It hurts like hell.”

“Oh yeah? You know why that is? It’s because you’re a child. No tolerance for pain. Be a man Merlin. Come on.” He cajoled while slowly encouraging Merlin to sit up. He succeeded eventually, mainly because he annoyed Merlin into forgetting about the pain he was in. With a little more encouragement he made Merlin scoot a few meters behind him, to gingerly rest the side of him that wasn’t injured against a big stone.

“Now, let’s take a look at the damage shall we?” Arthur said, still talking in a tone one would use when talking to a little scared child.

“I am not a kid Arthur. Stop treating me like one.” He knocked Arthur’s hand that was working to raise his shirt away.

“Stop acting like one and I will,” Arthur retorted, and went towards the hem of his shirt again.

“What’s not wanting to take off my shirt got to do with being a child?”

“You’re not an idiot no matter how many times I call you one. You know we need to figure out how bad the wounds are. And to clean them. We don’t know what kind of germs were in those claws.”

“I can clean my wounds myself just fine,” Merlin insisted stubbornly.

“Oh yeah.” Arthur drew back a bit, sitting on his knees, “raise your right arm.” He waited till Merlin tried to attempt it, raising it halfway and then wincing in pain. “That’s what I thought,” Arthur stated with finality and moved forward again.

“Then Gaius can,” Merlin protested weakly.

“Gaius is a day’s ride away.” Arthur reached for Merlin’s shirt.

“Don’t Arthur,” Merlin said, in that little terrified voice again.

Suddenly, Arthur had had enough.

“Look, I know you don’t want me to find out whatever your secret is. And I promised you I won’t push it. But right now I don’t give a shit. You don’t want me to know what you’re hiding. Well tough. Because I don’t want you to die. And right now, I know which one of us is going to get what they want.”

If Merlin wanted to argue about that, Arthur didn’t give him a chance. He grabbed the torn edges of the shirt and in one smooth motion he tore it off. Then he moved towards Merlin’s scarf, and despite Merlin trying to raise his hand, to stop Arthur, to do anything against Arthur’s sheer will of making sure Merlin was okay, he pulled it off of Merlin’s neck, exposing all of Merlin’s front to him.

Arthur tried not to look. He really did, but he couldn’t help the fact that his gaze was roaming at Merlin’s torso, assessing the damage on the shivering frame, whether from fear or pain, he didn’t know. What he found was… disappointing. There was nothing to hide. It was pretty anticlimactic. The injuries though, while not trivial and probably needing some stitches, were not life threatening. Arthur sighed in relief, and got up, telling Merlin not to move, and rushed towards their camp place to get his water skin and a piece of cloth.

He came back and quickly but quietly cleaned Merlin’s wound, wrapping a long strip of cloth he tore out of Merlin’s shirt around Merlin’s frame, tying it on the left side, to keep pressure on the wound. Satisfied with the end result, he looked at Merlin, who looked pale, and more than a little petrified.

“All done. Now the back,” Arthur stated causing Merlin to tense up again.

“That’s not really bad Arthur. It will be okay.”

“Maybe… but I won’t know until I look. Now gently, turn.” Arthur said calmly.

Merlin swallowed, a protest bubbling up his throat, but Arthur wasn’t having any of it.

“Merlin. Whatever it is you are hiding. It won’t upset me half as much as it would if you don’t let me look at your shoulder. I need to see the wound. I would do it, whether you allow me or not,” Arthur spoke in a tone that made sure Merlin knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

Merlin nodded. He looked like a man going towards his gallows. Arthur wasn’t sure what could possibly make Merlin think Arthur would hurt him, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Merlin gingerly turned, exposing his right shoulder, which was oozing blood from the five short but deep claw marks that were clearly visible, followed by clear skin and then….

Arthur froze. His entire existence came to a standstill in the moment when Merlin turned fully. His heart stopped beating, the blood stopped flowing in his veins and his brain ground to a halt.

It couldn’t be.

He scooted forward on his knees again, slowly, in a daze, and raised a hand to touch, and Merlin flinched. That’s when he noticed that Merlin’s whole body was shaking.

Oh.

He moved his hand forward anyway, landing one hand on Merlin’s right arm, mindful of the hurt shoulder, stabilizing him, the other moving reverently towards what Merlin had been hiding from him.

It was a mark. No ordinary mark either. It was a dragon, in dull red and golden, with its head thrown back and roaring, the body of it covering the whole of Merlin’s left shoulder blade, and it’s tail starting from there and rising up to the middle of Merlin’s neck and then curling in. The scales of the dragon looked beautiful, glittering and shiny. One could not even confuse this with a tattoo, because it was too beautiful, too real, too much a part of Merlin’s skin to be mistaken. It was a soul mark, so rare that it was basically considered a legend, and it was mesmerizing.

There was only one problem.

Only sorcerer’s had them. Or sorcerer’s companions. And as far as he knew, a dragon was a pretty obvious declaration of what Merlin was.

“You’re a sorcerer,” Arthur stated, his hand hovering above the skin, not touching. He didn’t pose it as a question, because it wasn’t one.

“Yes,” Merlin said, still trembling. “I can explain Arthur, I never would hurt you… I can’t. It’s not my fault…” he continued rambling but Arthur wasn’t listening. There was a ringing in his ears, the blood pumping to his brain abnormally loud, drowning out everything except the sight of the dragon in front of his eyes.

It couldn’t be.

“Are you Emrys?” Arthur asked, his voice rough.

Merlin suddenly went quiet, surprised by Arthur’s tone or his question.

“Answer the question Merlin.” He tightened his hold on Merlin’s arm, making him wince, but he didn’t care at the moment. “Are you Emrys?”

“That’s…. How do you even know that name Arthur? I don’t understand. Look, I can explain… please listen to me before doing anything drastic.”

Arthur shook Merlin violently. He wasn’t playing a game. He needed an answer. He spoke out again, harshly, jostling Merlin after speaking every word. “Are. You. Emrys?”

“Yes. Yes I am. That’s what the druids call me. Let me go Arthur. You’re hurting me,” Merlin replied, his voice cracking.

Arthur snatched his hands back as if burnt. He stood up and walked a few steps away, leaving Merlin to turn and look at him, tears in his eyes and heartbreak evident on his features.

“I told you that you would hate me,” Merlin said quietly, resigned.

Arthur paced the small clearing a couple of times, running his hand through his hair, then grabbing a fistful in both of his hands and pulling. He was going crazy.

It couldn’t be.

He couldn’t form words, his thoughts were a jumble, his brain too scrambled to come up with anything. So he did the only thing he could think of doing. He took off his shirt, hastily throwing it away. Then he took of his undershirt and threw it away too.

“What… what’s going on?” Merlin asked, shocked out of his gloom by Arthur’s sudden stripping. Arthur just shot an angry glare towards him while loosening his breaches, and moving towards Merlin after taking them off, standing only in his underwear.

He stood right in front of Merlin’s line of sight, and lowered his underwear to it exposed the whole of his left hip bone. It was then that he noticed that Merlin had closed his eyes.

“Merlin. Open your eyes and look.” His voice came out soft without him trying, but Merlin just shook his head, so he reiterated, making it clear that it was an order. “ _Look.”_

The sorcerer, Emrys, opened his eyes and looked at Arthur’s eyes, searching his gaze, wincing when he found it completely closed off. Arthur tried to soften his features, but his shock was too overwhelming to allow him anything more than a light tremble of his lips. Instead, he looked down at his hand, where it was pulling down on his underwear, exposing something he had been hiding for a very long time.

Merlin followed his line of sight and Arthur had to close his eyes when Merlin finally figured out what Arthur was showing. He gasped. Loud and disbelieving.

For many hushed moments, none of them spoke, until the silence and the dark became oppressive to Arthur and he had to open his eyes. He found Merlin, with one of his hand covering his mouth, his other hand, the one with injured shoulder, raising up and down, pain forgotten. Arthur knew he wanted to touch, but he won’t prompt Merlin to do it. He would let Merlin figure it out in his own pace.

Merlin though, seemed to be as stupefied as he was, which calmed something in Arthur’s heart. He hadn’t even realized he had been breathing unsteadily until it evened out, putting Merlin’s stuttering breaths in sharp contrast. Finally the baffled man managed to tear his gaze away from Arthur’s hip bone, from where he was marked, dark and permanent, owned, and locked his eyes with Arthur’s.

Disbelief was the most obvious expression in his eyes, followed by a handsome amount of fear and shock. What made Arthur smile, for the first time since he had clapped his eyes on the dragon decorating Merlin’s back, was the tentative hope lingering in the back of Merlin’s blue eyes, unwanted for sure, suppressed, but still growing despite it all.

 _Idiot._ As if anything could be more obvious than this.

“Ar-thur?” Merlin said, his voice barely a whisper, breaking in the middle of the one word. A world of question in his voice and eyes.

“I know.” Arthur tried to sound reassuring but his emotions were in too much of a turmoil for him to be sure it came across as such.

“But Arthur… that’s… that’s…” Merlin tried to state the obvious, tears forming in his eyes.

“I know Merlin. I know.”

“No. It can’t be.” Merlin shook his head lightly, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s. “It’s me. That’s my name. It’s… it’s me.” His eyes dropped back to the mark at his eye level.

“Yes,” Arthur said in a hoarse whisper. He had known it from the moment he had seen the mark on Merlin’s back, but it still felt more real when Merlin stated that.

Because it was exactly that: Merlin’s name adorning his body, curving around the arc of his hip bone, written in the ancient script in an almost black color, glinting a subtle green when the light hit it just the right way. Five letters, an inch each in size, looking like they were painted by brush strokes of a master calligrapher. Exquisite.

He remembered going to Geoffrey after tracing it on a piece a paper, only finding the courage to do it weeks after the mark first materialized- after he had tried scrubbing his skin raw to remove it until it bled, and then hiding in his room, not getting out of his bed for days because he had been too afraid, the screams of his nanny and the smell of her burning flesh strong in his mind. The old historian had just taken the paper, translated the letters and given it back to Arthur, no questions asked.

Emrys.

Just one word, a name, and oh how Arthur had hated it. How he had raged and cried and thrown things around, destroying his room, and then taken up his sword and lashed out at the people practicing sword fighting with him, at the trees and the stones and everything he could. The fury he had felt at some unknown man named Emrys claiming him as his, without his choice, had been explosive.  Over time Arthur had made peace with it, hating and resenting the mark most of his adult life, but knowing the futility of fighting against destiny.

Today, the way Merlin was looking at it, at his mark on Arthur’s skin, made him feel magnificent.

Merlin raised his hand slowly but surely, checking with Arthur to receive a brisk nod of permission, and touched the edge of the first letter, tracing it delicately, feather light. Arthur closed his eyes at the sensation.

It burned… like a brand.

Which he supposed it was.

He broke out of his reverie when he heard the sob. Merlin was using both of his hands to cover his face and was bent over himself, shaking, occasional sobs breaking out. Without conscious thought Arthur dropped to the ground in front of him, putting his hands around the sorcerer’s frame. Merlin let go of his face and curled into him, weeping uncontrollably. Arthur’s one hand around the small of Merlin’s back, clutching him tightly, the other was in his hair, rubbing it comfortingly as if you would a crying child, and carefully avoiding the dragon tail on Merlin’s neck no matter how much his fingers itched to trace it. There would be another time for that. It would just make it worse.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey! Why are you crying? This is good. It’s more than good. Don’t cry.” Arthur felt his own eyes starting to sting, his voice breaking. Merlin just shook his head where it was lying on Merlin’s chest and sucked in a large breath, body still trembling.

“You should know, if you make me cry because you can’t be a proper adult, let alone a master sorcerer, I won’t forgive you,” Arthur warned.

They sat there like that until Merlin’s chest stopped heaving with every breath, until the sobbed petered out, and until the tears stopped trickling down Arthur’s naked skin. Merlin didn’t raise his head but after a while he mumbled,

“I have been so scared…” his voice small.

“So have I,” Arthur confessed in the same tone.

“I came to Camelot because I knew I was marked for you. I didn’t know- couldn’t even hope for it, that you would be marked for me too. I knew it was dangerous. I knew I would be killed if anyone ever found out. But I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stay away with the dragon on my back- your sigil, your _mark_ \- telling me where my destiny lay.” Merlin kept talking, confessing things he had been burdened with for who knew how long.

“You shouldn’t have. Your life is not expendable.” Arthur squeezed Merlin’s waist, “I wasn’t worth it.”

Merlin suddenly pushed Arthur and got out of his hold. His eyes looked firm and angry.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that,” he stated resolutely. “I don’t regret it. I wouldn’t even have regretted dying for you. And I certainly don’t regret loving you, even while knowing it won’t be reciprocated. I have your soul mark. This was my right. You can’t take that away from me.” The conviction in his words took Arthur’s breath away.

“You’re so brave, aren’t you?” Arthur said, looking away from the intensity in Merlin’s look.

“Wha…?”

“You thought of the mark as a gift, while I always thought of it as a curse. You looked for me, came to me, and protected me, because of your destiny. I did all there was in my power to hide, to run away from that very thing.” Arthur felt ashamed of himself. He could only stare at the grass, with specks of Merlin’s blood on it.

“Hey.” Merlin put his hand on Arthur’s cheek. “I always knew I was a warlock though. You didn’t know who Emrys would be. It’s different,” he reassured him.

“Yes.” Arthur swallowed. He hadn’t known it would be Merlin. Sweet, clumsy, loyal Merlin. The thin limbed, loose tongued, feather brained idiot who had stolen his heart the first time he had laid eyes on him. Fruitlessly, he had tried to fight it so hard, not knowing he had been Merlin’s even before he had ever seen him. It was a struggle he could have never won. “I didn’t know it would be someone I love.”

Merlin’s eyes widened for a split second, and Arthur could not even bring himself to regret his words, not while the phantom touch of Merlin’s fingers tracing the first letter on his skin still burned sweetly. They looked at each other, and none of them needed words to communicate anymore, the need, the want, the …love, they had been hiding for so long was as evident on their faces as the sun in a clear sky. Arthur’s chest felt tight, the breath stuck somewhere between his lungs and mouth, and the only way he would be able to let it out would be against Merlin’s lips. So he did.

There was nothing erotic about their kiss. Nothing sensual. It felt like a declaration of intent, a promise and a confession. Merlin sighed when he felt the press of Arthur’s lips against his, soft but sure, silently telling Merlin that this wasn’t a mistake, wasn’t a heat of the moment thing. This was real. Merlin’s hand on Arthur’s cheek slipped into his hair, the other one going to his hipbone again, thumb running where the letters would be, blindly. The searing heat starting from that point and going to his groin, spreading all over his body made Arthur let out a moan and finally deepened the kiss, letting the feel and taste of Merlin engulf him.

Without conscious thought Arthur’s one hand wrapped around Merlin to bring him closer, the other went to the neck, finally, finally touching the mark. There was nothing raised or obvious, not like a tattoo or a carving would feel, it was just soft skin, but Arthur knew he was touching the mark by the tingling in his fingers and the way Merlin reacted, as if electrocuted, frantically pulling Arthur’s hair, gasping into his mouth, kissing like he would die if he was separated.

Then he groaned.

Not the nice kind of groan either; no, this was pain.

_Shit._

How could he have forgotten? Merlin was still injured. He gentled Merlin, slowly disentangled from him while Merlin whined and resisted the movement. Once he had enough distance between them to see, he gave Merlin him a once over, and realized that yes, the bandage around Merlin’s abdominal wound was indeed displaced, blood smearing on both their skins. Moving a little and glancing at Merlin’s back also made him aware that the one on his right shoulder was very much there too, oozing and painful. They both might have forgotten it in the heat of moment, but it hadn’t stopped existing.

Merlin tried to move forward for the kiss again, but Arthur put a hand on his chest to keep him away, giving his injuries a significant look. The ensuing pout looked both adorable and ridiculous, and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, the sound carefree and happy.

“I have waited longer than you know for this okay,” Merlin grumbled.

“Merlin?” Arthur waited till they locked gaze. “Trust me. I know. I have waited just as long,” Arthur assured. Merlin’s eyes looked doubtful for a moment, and then lit up.

“So you’ve been pining,” Merlin teased, gently being maneuvered as Arthur wanted him to until he was sitting properly, so Arthur could fix the make-shift bandage around his waist.

“I have been doing no such thing,” Arthur replied indignantly.

“You have. Admit it.”

“I would not. And don’t think I don’t realize that you’ve been lying to me for so long. We will have a talk about it later,” Arthur warned, which silenced Merlin. Perfectly Arthur thing to do! He had went ahead and ruined their one nice moment.

He directed Merlin to move to his side, so he could finally clean the claw marks on his shoulder. He couldn’t help running his fingers on the beautiful dragon in front of him in a light, reverent touch. Merlin spoke out when he felt it.

“I had to,” He said, “You know I did. Please don’t hold it against me. I couldn’t risk it.” Merlin begged.

“I know,” Arthur hushed, one single finger tracing the outline of the black wings spreading out along Merlin’s shoulder blade, “I understand.”

Merlin sagged under his hand, and Arthur proceeded to clean and bandage the other shoulder, one of his hands constantly straying to the mark, _his_ mark. If Merlin had any objections he did not voice them.

After Arthur was done, Merlin looked back at him, the question clear in his eyes. Arthur smiled and indulged him, turning his head and kissing Merlin, soft and slow, for long moments.

They would have to go back to Camelot, let Gaius look at Merlin’s wounds, let him heal, before they could do anything else. But for now, they had this. Arthur sat with his arms around Merlin’s waist, Merlin’s back plastered against his chest, and he rested his head on Merlin’s shoulder after pressing a light kiss to the back of Merlin’s neck, where the dragon’s tail was.

Merlin was no longer wearing the scarf, no longer hiding. There were no secrets between them anymore.

Sometimes, destiny wasn’t so bad.

* * *

_Arthur remembered the first time he had seen Merlin. Sure and cocky, insolent beyond belief, challenging Arthur to a fight when his legs looked thin enough that he was surprised they could support his weight._

_Arthur remembered falling for him, hard and fast, losing himself in the freely given smiles, and carelessly given loyalty, without being asked for, without being deserved._

_He could recall holding Merlin’s unwavering trust in his hands and feeling invincible, and he could also recall the fear of losing it, and feeling vulnerable._

_What he could not forget though, was loving him, deeply, unwittingly, and helplessly. What he could not forget what detesting himself for it, of not being able to stand the sight of himself in mirror anymore, of the words marking him as someone else’s, when all he longed to be was Merlin’s._

_Arthur looked at Merlin, with his arm in his sling, sitting in front of him on the horse, as they lazily trudged their way back to the Palace, empty handed. He stared at the absolutely stunning way the colours of the dragon’s scales rippled with every movement of Merlin’s body, and for the first time in his life, he thanked his destiny._

_He loved it. He loved belonging to someone as long as it was Merlin. And as long as Merlin belonged to him too._

* * *

 After they had gotten back, Arthur being unable to stop himself from touching Merlin’s mark every moment he could, and after Gaius had looked over Merlin’s injuries, and stitched up the deeper gashes. After Merlin had spent two days recovering, and being reprimanded by his uncle for being careless, until they were forced to confide in him the whole truth. After Arthur had spent days agonizing about every lost moment, and had talked to Merlin about honesty and not lying to his prince, walking each other through the sting of betrayal and the necessity of deception.

After Arthur had come to know about each and every time Merlin had risked his life to save Arthur and not taken credit, and after Merlin had come to know about every time Arthur had had to stifle his desires because of his duties.

After all that, Arthur finally took Merlin to bed.

All their lives, they had both hidden the secrets on their skins. For the first time ever, they didn’t have to anymore. So they touched, both of them hungry to explore and be explored. Arthur traced every vein on Merlin’s skin, blue and visible, with his fingers. Merlin kissed every freckle on his sun kissed skin. The Prince, obsessed and possessive, ran his fingers over the gold and red decorating Merlin’s skin, and followed it by his tongue. When the warlock could not bear it any longer he turned around and returned the favor, caressing and stroking the letters marking his skin, licking them until Arthur begged for more. Then he proceeded to take Arthur in his mouth and teased, until Arthur begged for mercy. Only then did he come up, and kissed Arthur, and moaned his name, confessing his need, his love, his adoration that he had kept bottled up for so long, surrounding Arthur and possessing him, overwhelming all of his senses until he just begged for Merlin.

They finished faster than any of them wanted, the pent up need building up until there was nowhere else to go than over, gasping and chanting each other’s name. When they collapsed back on bed, the gnawing desperations in their belly calmed but nowhere close to sated, neither one of them had dry eyes.

It had felt like too much, and not enough.

It didn’t matter… they had the rest of their lives to drown in each other; body and soul.

* * *

  _Arthur would not be able to treat Merlin the way he wanted to. He would not be able to make Merlin wear low backed gowns that displayed the soul mark, the sign marking Merlin as Arthur’s, to the world, the way he ached to do. He would not be able to kiss Merlin in public, like he longed to… or take his advice about matters, like he desired to._

_At least not yet._

_Uther was still the King right now._

_But he won’t always be._

* * *

 They had gone a second round soon after, where Arthur had taken Merlin. He found they matched each other perfectly, all of Merlin’s bony angles fitting seamlessly in all of Arthur’s spaces, and discovered the exquisite pleasure it was to be inside him, surrounded by Merlin’s heat. He learned the almost painfully wonderful feeling of Merlin moving on top of him, clenching both his belly and his heart, so much so that he thought he would burst with the joy of it all, the happiness and need bubbling inside him, building into a wave, giant, strong and inevitable. When it crashed, it broke down every wall Arthur had ever erected to hide himself, forcing its way through every one of his defenses, until the only thing that remained was Arthur… and his love for his sorcerer.

Afterwards they lay together in a heap, Merlin lying sprawled half on him, as they got their breathing under control. After a few minutes, Merlin started snickering. A smile crept on Arthur’s face without his permission but he was too blissed out to control it.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asked.

“Nothing,” Merlin replied, still laughing, “I just finally understand all the hype about sex. If it always feels like this, no wonder people can’t stop talking about it.”

Arthur was speechless for a few minutes. When he spoke, he did it in a carefully controlled voice,

“So you have never…?” he let his sentence trail into an unfinished sentence.

Merlin raised his head a little just to give Arthur an annoyed look. “Like I could, when your sigil was claiming me as yours before I even begun to understand what desire was. And when I did, I couldn’t stand the idea of anyone’s hands on me except yours. Even if it had never became reality, I really didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want anyone else.” He shrugged, as if it was nothing.

When Arthur looked at him in awe, Merlin got embarrassed, blushing, and looked away. Some moments later asked quietly, sounding like he was not sure he wanted to know the answer, “Have you?”

“No,” Arthur answered easily, knowing it would ease Merlin’s mind and happy to do so. “Not for any noble reasons as you. I just couldn’t, considering the location of the mark.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly, making Merlin smack him playfully oh his chest where he was still lying. “I am glad for it though. I am glad my first time was you.”

He wasn’t saying it just for the sake of it. Every time he had to turn away an advance by someone, all of the frustration and desperation, it had been completely worth it, because if it had not turned out the way it did, it would’ve cheapened this moment. Now that he had Merlin, he realized that whatever he might ever have felt for or with someone else was more insignificant than a grain of salt. He did not resent any of it. Not one bit.

“Me too,” Merlin said quietly, shy.

“Also, I was just thinking. You realize that you could’ve just grown your hair instead of wearing those god awful neckerchiefs right?” Arthur said, changing the topic.

“I tried,” Merlin wrinkled his nose adorably. “They tickle.”

Arthur laughed. He couldn’t help it.

“You really ought to be punished for subjecting me to those abominations all this time when you could easily have avoided that if you weren’t so against a little… tickling.”

“Clot pole,” Merlin retorted intelligently.

“You aren’t allowed to wear them anymore,” Arthur ordered.

“What?” Merlin squawked, sitting up abruptly and looking at Arthur in surprise. “I can’t do that. I would still be burned alive if anyone found out, bonded to the Prince or not.”

Arthur sobered up suddenly, images of a blazing pyre in the middle of the town’s square flashing before his eyes, the memory stench of burning wood mixing with the acrid smell of burning flesh hitting him in the nostrils as if real. Feeling sick, he shook his head, forcing the recollection out of his head. That was the past. This was now; and he would do anything in his power to protect Merlin. Merlin’s skin would never have to feel the burn of fire… he would die before he let that happen. Somehow, he managed to force a smile to stretch his lips and said,

“I never said you can’t wear neckerchiefs. I just said you can’t wear _your_ neckerchiefs.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean… I am gonna give you new ones. Beautiful silk around your neck. I bet it would feel better than those awful rags. And it sure as hell would look better.”

“You just want to see me wearing your clothes.” Merlin pouted, “The fact that my very skin is branded yours isn’t enough for you, and your possessive streak wants me to wear your clothes too.”

“Of course I do.” Arthur sat up and kissed Merlin’s shoulder. “I want you to wear robes, and beautiful silk. I want you to wear my colours, my house emblem decorating your cloak. I want you to sit next to me at the royal table, and beside me on the throne, a crown on your head. I want everyone to know you: the king’s consort… the royal sorcerer, my soul mate.” Arthur knew the longing in his heart was evident in his voice but he didn’t want to hide it… not from Merlin.

“Oh Arthur,” Merlin said, voice full of love.

“I can’t let you do that yet. I can’t let myself do that yet… it’s too dangerous.” Arthur’s tone showed how much it pained him to say that, but he said it anyway, “But one day…” He let hope bleed into his voice, and looked up to stare at the blue of Merlin’s eyes.

“One day,” Merlin promised, smiling, cocky and sure like the first time Arthur saw him.

There was nothing to do but believe him.

One day, they could both stop hiding. One day, they could stop the hunting of magic wielders and bring peace to the kingdom. One day, there would be Albion.

Until then, they had each other… and it was enough. More than enough.                                                                                                                                                         

**Author's Note:**

> As always, somehow it ended up being a monsterpiece rather than the really short 3-4k words quick fic I wanted to write. The things these two idiots do to me. They don't shut up, spinning the story out of control. I love them.  
> I haven't written in a while (because of my darned exam i kept whining about in the previous author notes but I CLEARED THAT SO YAY) but am hoping to write regularly now. Hopefully there would be lots of short fics being written often.  
> .  
> This was inspired by and written for Tavern_tales July Prompt : Tattoos, Piercings, Markings. (I love that journal omg. It never fails to inspire me to write.)  
> .  
> If you like reading it, or have any critique to give, leave a comment. They have the power to brighten my day and making me smile throughout the days.


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